That Fire of Fire
by MortalShadowhunter
Summary: King of France in the late 1700's, young William Herondale is placed in the throne when his parents are killed in a fire. When he riddles the land with taxes and bad luck, the only one who truly stays by his side is his loyal servant, James Carstairs. However, when the revolution heightens and love is cut by the guillotine, Will finds that he is no more safe than the rest...
1. Prologue

**Okay. I know what you are all thinking. **  
><strong>"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU MAKING A NEW STORY WHEN YOU'RE NEGLECTING ALL YOUR OTHER ONES?"<strong>  
><strong>Erm...I have a horrid habit of neglecting stories...Don't get me wrong, I will update them...sometime (maybe) I just really needed to write some stuff, but I've gotten awfully bored with my other stories and I need a break. Also, I've run out of ideas and I have too much homework to spend all my time staring at a screen thinking about what to write.<strong>

**But enough with the excuses.**

**Voila. Enjoy.**

**Oh, and to clear things up, Will is 15, Jem just turned 16, and Tessa just turned 15, but this story will span over a long period of time. Just think that everyone is about a year and a half or so younger than they are in TID. Oh, and this is all set in France during the late 1780's and early 1790's. IMPORTANT: THIS IS NOT HISTORICALLY CORRECT AT ALL, IT JUST LOOSELY FOLLOWS THE RESULT AND TRAGEDIES OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION, SO NO FLAMES FOR THAT PLEASE.**

**If you have any other questions for CLARIFICATION, not the future plot plans, I'll be answering some reviews in my next chapter. (Depending if I get any :)**

**Love, love,**

**MortalShadowhunter**

**(Aka, the girl who neglects all her stories)**

**~~Six Months Earlier-January of 1789~~**

First, there was warmth.

Blood.

Fire.

He could feel France shatter and the shards of ridicule cut into his hands.

The ground split.

The sky fell.

The cold lashed.

The world burned.

And then he woke up.

The humid, dank smell of the seemingly endless dark was sickening in the tendrils of his nightmare that still coiled in his mind. The covers, as soft as the new feathers on the doves that visited the lower windows, were knotted in his fingers as he took a ragged gasp of air. Wonderfully cool like the small stone necklace that always hung around his neck, he pushed the covers down his legs and grabbed his dressing gown from a side table to fasten over the collar of his shirt. It was dark blue and lined with a satin cover; it was fit for a king and, in truth, he was one.

"Your parents have perished in a fire. We send our condolences." Sophie had said, her eyes full of tears. She had come with an envelope on a silver tray, reading off the paper when he had instructed her to. Ordered to burn the paper, Sophie had tossed willingly it into the fire but could hardly contain the grief that had stricken her.

William Herondale, son of King Edmund Herondale and Linette Herondale, brother of Cecily Herondale and Ella Herondale, merely smiled.

He had waited hours, months, years for his turn on the throne and to bring France to power as it once had been. The people of France, under his parent's reign, had prospered on trade, factories, agriculture, and peace with neighboring countries, but for Will, that hardly met his requirements. After all, what was a country with no well-kept army, a strong and dominant government, and a king to claim it all?

Swinging his legs off the side of the bed and standing a little unsteadily and tiredly on the marble floor, Will stepped quietly out to the window of his bedroom, pulling away the dark, heavy curtains that shielded the dark from the moonlight. The window, he realized, had swung open in the middle of his slumber and was letting in all the cold air, but he didn't mind the sting of the night. Instead, he sat on the inside edge of the window sill, looking down at the high wall of the castle that could easily become his deathbed if he lost his balance.

"James!" Will called, his voice echoing down the halls. "James? Where are you?" He asked, raising his voice. Before his nerves had the change to sing with impatience, there was a slight rustle at the door and a click to signify that his calls had been answered.

"I'm right here." A soft voice came from the shadows and dark eyes blinked at Will. "You ought to be sleeping.

"And you needn't give me suggestions." Will said in disdain.

Jem sighed. "What is it that you need, my lord?"

Will's lip curled in satisfaction at Jem calling him by his new-his _rightful-_-title.

"The second letter that states the near closing of the Seven Years War." Will said, glancing back at Jem. "Bring it to me."

A slight, sad smile tugged at the edge of Jem's mouth. "I had a feeling you would be wanting it." Jem said, drawing an envelope from the inside of his coat. He was dressed reasonably, with dark knee breeches, white stockings held up by two garter buckles, a red waistcoat and a black overcoat. Then again, as a servant of the kingdom, he couldn't be just seen in rags and peasant clothes because it would make him look unkept and disorganized. Even so, Jem could hardly stand disorganization even of he were a peasant, which he could as well been if he hadn't been taken in by Will's parents.

Holding out his hand, Will beckoned him forward. "Give it here."

"Very well." Jem answered with a sigh, stepping towards him and handing Will the letter. "They're requesting your help in efforts to rebuild their cities in the war. America, that is. What say you?"

"Well they're certainly grateful for our help in the war." Will muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He hopped off from the window ledge and landed carefully and steadily on the ground with a light tap. Though he was fourteen, he was a slim as a rail and taller than most boys his height, reaching almost to how tall Jem was. "They keep wanting more help, those damned Americans. Can't they see we haven't the resources for such a thing?"

"Well, my lord, it really is your choice whether or not we assist them." Jem said, his voice cool and unreadable. He reached up, taking off his hat and holding it to his chest. "What I mean, my lord, is that I haven't a say, nor should I have one because it's not my place."

"You never used to call me 'my lord' when we were younger." Turning away from Jem, Will smirked pushing a hand through his hair. "Then again, I guess I was too young to understand such political nonsense."

"I suppose you ought to understand it now," Jem murmured, "now that you've gotten older. You've become a different person than what you were as a child."

Will glared halfheartedly at Jem, annoyance in his burning eyes. "You've said enough, Jem. We're not the people we used to be, nor is it right for me to be friends with my servant-"

A look of sorrow crossed momentarily over Jem's face.

"That's all I am? A servant?"

"You know better than to speak back." Will hissed, though he couldn't bring himself to get truly mad at his childhood...friend. "Go send a letter to their parley that we refuse to go into relations with anyone. I'd prefer to work on our own country instead."

Taking the letter from Will, Jem stepped back and slipped it back into his coat. "Of course...But, forgive me for saying so, but I get a slight inkling that you're planning to do something drastic and change the entire kingdom. You almost seem...happy that your parents were eradicated."

"It's my turn to rule."

"It's a big responsibility."

"The throne," Will said between his teeth, "is rightfully mine and I won't let anyone get in the way of what I want to do. France will benefit from this, you'll see." Raising his chin and crossing his arms, Will sniffed arrogantly. "After all, Herondales are born with instinctive and unchallenged power." He said, a sharp tone in his voice. "Now away you must. I expect the letter to be sent by dawn. You understand?"

Jem, with a heavy heart, drew an arm across his chest and tilted his head down in a submissive gesture, his dark hair falling over his face. Straightening up, he turned his back and walked for the door, counting each step before taking the doorknob in his hand. Looking back, Jem kept a blank expression. "Yes, my lord."


	2. A Game of Cues

**Alright! The writing for the second chapter has been COMPLETED! Yes! Aren't you proud of my self discipline? I will say that this story is probably going to be a lot slower than most of mine...so I beg you to bear with me through the detail if it isn't your favorite. Haha. Le second chapter commence!**

**AnimalKid13: I know, I know. Please, no hate. O_O I just really needed a break from that story, but I do hope you like this one as well as time goes on. :) (I will update it...But maybe only like once or twice a month)**

**SilverJem5: Hey girl. ;) I'm glad you like this idea! Literally, I made this idea while watching Death Note. My train of thoughts when from anime, to Death Note, to killing, to mass executions, and then to different types of execution, and then to the guillotine, and then to the usage of the guillotine in France, and then to the French Revolution, and then I was thinking about how it would be funny if Will and Jem lived in France, and then if Will was a king and Jem was his servant...AND THUS IT WAS CREATED. Haha. Inspired to write a French Revolution fanfiction by the anime Death Note. ;) Enjoy this chappie. :)**

**Jillessa Heronstairs: Sup. I obviously have no clue who you are. (Insert sarcasm here because sarcasm over text makes the person who said the sarcastic comment sound either 1) like a bitch or 2) really darn stupid) I totally haven't chatted with you, reviewed on one of your stories, helped beta your stuff, or RPed with you. ;) Jk. But don't you just HATE it when someone takes your sarcasm seriously? First things first. Ugh. I hate history. Don't worry, this hardly has any real history stuff in it. The only real facts I think are the fact that it is the end of the Seven Years War and the French Revolution is around that time and they used guillotines. Other than that? I got nothing. :/ Speaking of the guillotine, people will be decapitated and heads will roll. NO ONE is safe. *EVIL LAUGH* Dear god. Please don't let me become Veronica Roth when it comes to killing off characters. Amen. **

**TheDarkWhiteAngel: Hallo! I'm happy to have attracted another person to my story. :) Since this story is focusing a lot on politics and power and love, I cannot simply name this a certain ship. You will see as time goes on how the story in this will play out. All I can say is that this won't have a satisfying ending and it will be bitter-without most of the sweet. With that said, the plot will make itself clear and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. (I tend to update sporadically, though I hope to get in at least one chapter a week).**

**~~Present-July of 1789~~**

If it hadn't been for his unwavering and undoubtedly strong loyalty and obligation to the Herondale family, Jem wasn't sure if he would have stayed in France. Of course, now, he really had no choice whether he wanted to stay or not, seeing as he had been forcibly appointed as William's servant.

The streets of France were hardly ever silent and were unused to seeing a sparse array of people. As he passed the marketing area, a familiar sense of business came over him. Walking down the aisle where cloth was hanging, Jem glanced to the side at the working maids. The spindles hummed steadily and ceaselessly on all sides. With the exception of the aunt, beside whom sat only one elderly lady who, with her thin careworn face, was rather out of place in this brilliant society, the whole company had settled into three groups. Fabrics of all colors billowed on lines with people selling their wares, their own clothes hardly fit for wearing.

Passing an opened room entertainment lounge, which Jem often encouraged Will to pass up, he cringed at the ghastly sights in the rooms. From the third room came sounds of laughter, the shouting of familiar voices, the growling of dogs, and general commotion. Some eight or nine young men were crowding anxiously round an open window. Three others were romping with a young hound, one pulling him by the chain and trying to set him at the others.

_How barbaric_, Jem thought, carrying a bag of deliveries that Will had ordered. Off to the side, there were people with signs complaining about the new king, who they reasoned to be too young, seeing as Will was only fifteen, and that he hadn't a clue how to treat the country. Overrun with taxes as crops failed and trade depleted, the people of France had started to question whether the son of the admired Linette and Edmund hadn't followed in his parent's footsteps, rather, damning them to poverty for the sake of power.

Jem didn't know what was in the bag he was holding, nor did question when he walked into the drawing room of the expansive estate, he spied Will in a chair with a cue stick across his lap, a smirk seemingly plastered on his face.

"Right you are, Darcy." Will said, answering one of the nicely dressed men in the room. "But I do spy an error in your conclusion. You want to assistthe Americans, I hear? They've used up enough resources."

The man, who Jem guessed was a highly ranking noble under the king's orders, merely covered his look of frustration. "Of course, your Majesty, I was just referring to the fact that they might make powerful allies. And, on another note, it's your go."

Standing up, Will passed by Darcy and another woman who Jem assumed was from another part of France, due to the different trend in her dress. "We don't need allies. That's final." Will said, elegant as always as he placed the cue stick between his fingers to lightly tap one of the cue balls into the holes. He turned towards another person in the room that Jem hadn't noticed. "What say you about the matters? I try to take advice."

The other young man thought about it for a moment. "I say we leave the Americans to their own expenses. It's much easier."

As if noticing Jem for the first time, Will beckoned him forth. "Come 'ere James. You ought to not dally about in the shadows."

"Forgive me." Jem said, bowing his head slightly, making his way up to Will and ignoring the stares he got from the visitors.

"Is that your servant? Or one of 'em?" The woman asked, a thick French accent clear in her voice. "I thought he'd be a 'ittle older, but he's just a young boy. If a little younger than 'hee Majesty himself."

"Oh, he just looks younger probably." The younger man said, looking at Jem with curiousness. "Since he's obviously a _foreigner_."

"Jem." Will said sternly, placing the bag next to him on the space in the chair. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

"O-Of course." Jem regained himself from his distaste, forcing himself into a bow and taking his hat off. "James Carstairs, servant of the Herondale household. May you require anything of assistance?"

"Oh, he is adorable." The woman spoke. "It's a wonder how such a young generation has been able to sustain the throne of France. I do hope you don't take offense by that. Then again, Herondales have always been natural rulers even if they did come from London."

"Another one of your biannual meetings to show off your skills?" Jem asked Will under his breath, not really afraid of what the young lord was going to say. He had, after all, known Will since he was eleven, though it seemed much longer than that. "You've always had a knack for games even if you proclaim that they are for political purposes. I think we both know your arrogant virtues."

Will scowled but didn't say anything about the matters. "We were ending soon anyway, and I did get input."

"Of course." Jem answered with a sigh, placing his hat back on his head. "Your fiancé is looking for you, though. Before I left, I got word that Her Lady Lovelace had up and dusted from London and come to see you. I think I recall seeing her roaming the halls. It's bad form to let Her Lady go wandering about unattended."

Will had paled, his eyes filled with annoyance.

"J-Jessamine is here?" He inquired, his mouth twitching downwards. "Where is she?"

Jem gestured at the doorway. "In the ballroom, or at least, that was the last place I saw her."

"Take her to me." Will ordered. "And see our guests out first. I would hate to make them endure her dreadful row."

**~~ooo~~**

"Will!" Jessamine cried, bounding forward-Jem often wondered how she could run so fast in an enormous dress-and nearly tackled Will to the floor in a hug. "Aren't you glad to see me? I was thinking we could have the most splendid ball today and invite all the nobles here. And my mama and papa can come and see how happy we are. Oh, and then-"

"Jessamine!" Will exclaimed, regaining his balance. He was deeply irritated, though he wouldn't do anything to tell her off. "Does your tutor know you're here?"

"Oh, that Sophie girl?" Jessamine stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. Even though she was fifteen, like Will, she still acted like a child. It was frankly embarrassing. "I left her behind. Some kind lady offered to let me carriage here with me. Isn't that so nice?" She took Will's face in her hands, molding his mouth up into a smile. "There. You're so cute! But your outfit is not very cute. It has too much black and blue; it looks like a bruise, really."

Will sighed. "Jessamine-"

"I told you," Jessamine said, her voice high and childish, "to call me Jessie. We are going to be married, you ought to remember, and_ Jessamine_ can be quite a mouthful." As she talked about girlishly innocent things, her tight blond curls bounced at her shoulders and the thick, heavy satin of her dress swished around her feet. Will, on the other hand, stood as stiff as a board, too morally obligated to not raise his voice with her or show any sort of annoyance for it was rude and improper. "And I've been taking more of the French lessons with Sophie. She's passable."

"I don't speak French." Will muttered, pulling her gently off him. "Jem?"

Looking up, Jem blinked. "Yes, my lord?"

"Do find Jessamine a room for the night and bring her bags there. It's too late in the day to make her carriage back."

Jem gave a slight nod. "Is that all?"

Will smirked. "And tell the cook to start preparing dinner. Also, Miranda ought to start polishing the silver and teacups. You go make the dining table and manage those useless maids. I expect a dinner fit for thy Lady."

Jessamine squealed. "Oh, Willie darling You're so kind!"

"If you would, miss." Jem said kindly, tilting his head down in a bow before picking up her bags. "I'll escort you to your room. William has ordered me to do so-" his eyes glinted, "-and I never disobey them."


	3. Sickness

**Hallo again! Aren't you proud of me? I actually made it to chapter 3! I'm going to try to make the responses a tad shorter, seeing as I know that if I make them long, I'm going to spend too long on them. Haha :")**

**Rebecca de silva: I'm happy you like the chapters so far, or are interested in them at least. :)**

**SilverJem5: Yes, you do. Death Note is just like...Gahhhh...Anime takes over my life...Plus TID...Plus FanFiction. In short, my school life sucks. :) Oh well. As long as fandoms exist, my fangirl-ness will never cease to end. FEAR JESSAMINE. I'm just kidding, but, since she's younger in this fanfiction, she's going to be really immature and just plain girly. :) Enjoy le chapter. (I hope)**

**MagicMissy: Whoops. Haha. Typo. I'm glad you like Jessie. She's going to be a little OC since she's 15, not almost 18 like how she is in the books, but I think she'll fit in. :)**

**JillessaHeronstairs: MARSHMALLOWS! QUINN! AHHH! *Breaths* I love marshmallows, but I don't think as much as he does. I am enjoying writing this story, so I HOPE that I decide to continue it all the way to the end. It definitely depends on how popular this is, but I'm glad someone likes it. :)**

**TickTockClockWork: Heyo guuurrrlll. Long time, no see. :) I tried to make something original, so I'm happy you like it.**

**TheDarkWhiteAngel: Yeah...Early betrothal is horrid, especially when some people back then were engaged at birth...That must suck. I mean, what if they are really annoying? Life back then...**

**Guest: PLEASE DON'T TELL ME YOU LITERALLY PEED YOUR PANTS! But I'm very happy like you like the story so far. :)**

**ALSO, peoples, if you haven't checked out my story Vividly, please do so! :) It's not my best work, but I spent like five hours-no joke-on it so I hope I get some more reviews on it. However, it's not for everyone so don't feel pressured into reviewing it if you don't love that style. **** In addition, I want to hear feedback on this story if it's possible. How are the chapter lengths? Shorter? Longer? I build my stories off feedback, so as long as the suggestions and CONSTRUCTIVE-not flaming-criticism keeps on coming, I'll be able to update more and write better. :)**

**HAPPY THIRD CHAPTER**

**Oh, and if anyone is wondering what some of the strange phrases in here are, they are all 1700's slang, so if you don't know what they mean, feel free to ask in a review. :) I'm going to say this again, because I know that there is at least ONE history snob out there, that this doesn't follow history at all. It's merely in the same/close decade that the French revolution happens**

**~~ooo~~**

Picking at his food in boredom, Will contemplated the meaning of _Candide _during his meal.

Jessamine was going on about something involving a new servant that had arrived to her estate who was going by the name of Tatiana, whoever that was, and then proceeded to guffaw about a new prince that had come to town.

"A prince from Spain!" She mewled, clasping her hands together. "Prince Gideon Lightwood, apparently, and he has a little brother waiting in line for the throne as well. I've heard, though," Jessamine said, a gleam in her eyes whenever she had gossip, "that Prince Lightwood is engaged...To a _servant_. And a pretty one, at that. I wonder if she'll ever come here to France...Or perhaps she came with him now that he's here. I'd like to meet her and see what made her 'oh so special'. Eep! Willie, we ought to invite them over to the palace. It would make us on good terms as well."

"Jessamine." Will sighed, wanting nothing more than to smack her upside the head with a parasol in hopes to knock some sense into her. "I'm not going to invite some perfect stranger over. That's complete and utter ludicrous."

"But don't you think we shan't be so unsociable-"

"Honestly, it's far too much work." He grumbled, mashing his potatoes with the side of his utensil. "I've heard that the Lightwood's are pudding-headed fellows."

Jem shook his head at Will's rude behavior, sighing as he came out of his silence. "Forgive my master, Lady Lovelace. He's quite the unlicked cub."

"Oh, he's always been my Will baby; cold but adorable." Jessamine cooed, setting her knife down. "James. Could I trouble you to take this away? I'm finished with my meal and my peckish sort of mood has been diminished."

"Of course, my Lady." Jem replied politely, taking her plate off to the kitchen. He didn't mind her, nor did he like her too much, but before he had the chance to contemplate more about the blond haired girl, his train of thoughts were broken by a rather loud hacking noise emitting from the kitchen. _Good lord, _Jem thought, switching the plate from one gloved hand to the other, _what in Heaven's name is Bridget doing now?_

"_Where doth my children lay? Thy eyes have wearied of seeing red. I have looked yonder but nay. I cannot find thy young'uns for they're dead._" Bridget chortled from the kitchen, a carving knife in her hand. Raising the knife to her head height, she brought it down with a sickening crunch upon a row of raw sugarcane stalks that had been disassembled and strewn across the counter. Bridget's appearance was no more proper, as her hair was tied into two knotted carroty braids at the sides of her head, giving her the appearance of a small girl who had been left to fend for herself. Her dress did nothing to help her unkept look, seeing as it was shorn at the bottom at her shins so she wouldn't trip over it whilst going up stairs, and the edges of stockings and tall, lace up, short heeled boots poked out from under her dress.

"Bridget! Perhaps a change of tune is necessary if we aim to avoid giving the young Lady night horrors." Jem said, setting the plate down in a washbasin and hurrying over to Bridget, where he took the knife out of her hands. "And I asked for you to juice the sugarcane and let it dry, not maul it to pieces as if it were venison. Perhaps you ought to let me do it, seeing as you're having some difficulties." He said firmly, but not unkindly.

Bridget laughed. "You? You do the cuttin'?" She said in a thick Irish accent, astounded. "But a wee lad like you'self who just serves to order poor me around can't possibly handle a knife. I can't let a little boy take the job. I know what I'm doing; I'm the chef."

Sighing, Jem didn't bother to mention that he was both taller than she was and quite adept at using knives as well. "Well, complete it well or you know that Lord Herondale will be distraught when he discovers that I have failed to execute my orders correctly."

She laughed again, holding her hips. "No need to speak so proper, boy. You're just a servant like the rest of us."

"To be fair, I do know Will the most." Jem argued calmly, his dark eyes glinting.

"Just because you're the young Master's puppet doesn't mean he favors you more than the rest of us."

"That might be true," He gave a small shrug, "but at least I've got a bit of pride in serving him and more sense than the lot of you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some things to attend to and it seems like you have your duties as well."

"Very well. I'll attend to the sugar stick and juice it for ye." Bridget said in amusement, taking the knife from him and setting it aside. Jem gave a surprised gasp, completely shocked by her usage of words, as that was a lowly used slang in the slums. Recovering himself and suppressing the sudden urge to stare at her in mortification-the term she had used was awfully degrading for a lady...if she even was considered a lady-Jem walked from the room, holding himself in an elegant matter as if his cheeks weren't flaming with embarrassment.

**~~ooo~~**

"Jemmy. Do you think Will might want to go for a carriage ride tomorrow?" Jessamine yawned, sinking into the of her bed. She rubbed her eyes with her fists, blinking sleepily. "We need to go through the town. I've the feeling it'll be wonderful out tomorrow."

"And wonderful outside it will be." Jem deadpanned, trying to sound enthusiastic for her sake though he fell painfully short. "I'm sure I'll be able to convince my Lord to accompany you."

"Oh, you're the best." Jessamine sighed, rolling over and pressing her face into the freshly powdered linens. "That'll be all. Goodnight."

He pushed his hair from his face, snuffing out a candle with his fingertips. "There'll be a carriage tomorrow after the second evening hour to pick you up and take you back to your estate. Until then, I do hope you sleep well. Pleasant dreams, Lady Lovelace." Jem set the smoking candle on a ledge near the door and slipped outside, envious of her easy sleep. In addition to seeing Lady Lovelace off to sleep, he had to give out the morning's orders, clean up the dining space, supervise Bridget, tend to the young Lord, and ready himself as well.

Steps echoed down the hallways as Will turned into the corridor and scowled at Jem's presence. "Why are you here?"

"I'm here, simply," Jem said, lowering his eyes, "because you ordered me to. You told me to see Lady Lovelace off to bed, didn't you?"

"Right you are. But what I didn't say was to doddle about the hallways." Will grumbled, his eyes sharp.

"You look weary, my Lord, if you don't mind me saying. What is it that's bothering you?"

"Nothing." Will sniffed, crossing his arms. "Nothing at all."

Jem softened, biting his bottom lip. He hated to pry, but he knew exactly what was going on with Will. "I know you better than that, my Lord. I may just be a servant, all past relations forgotten, but the memory of your character...the way you stand when you lie, the way your voice sounds when you're afraid, the way you stare steadily ahead with a gaze just _that _much too clear-"

"Enough!" Will cried angrily, his hands clenched into fists. "Ella has nothing to do with you."

"She's sick." Jem countered. "She's been sick for a year now and you haven't let me help her or assist her in any way besides perhaps bringing her a cup of bohea now and again." Closing the door to Jessamine's room the entire way, he turned back to Will with a stern look. "I respect your word, your Majesty, but when you put your own sister's life on the line, it is my duty to help her even if it means disobeying you."

"You speak correctly," Will admitted, his voice a hiss, "but I am still your king."

"She is of the fairer sex." Jem held up a hand gracefully as if to illustrate his point. "She will not last for long at the rate you are going. I don't mean to be rude or uncourteous, but I shall speak my mind whether you like it or not. She needs to be given medicine, not to be put to bed, for her bed may as well become her tomb."

"How blatantly you say your thoughts." Turning to Jem, Will snarled with anger. "Fie, James. I do not need your assistance, nor do I want it."

"Your pride will be your undoing." Jem said calmly, though he gave a nod of a bow and made his way down the hall. "I shall bring you your evening tea once your anger has cooled, but I bid you to think about whose life you are controlling, my Lord." He called down the hall, unafraid. "And if you require my help, I shall be there immediately. As always."


	4. A Servant's Duty

**WHHHEEEEEEEEEEE I've had too many cookies today. Do you like cookies? I like cookies. Meow.**

**Lifeofme: I am so happy you like this story. :) It's definitely taking a bit of time to make sure I'm (somewhat) using language of the late 1700's though I still aspire to improve. And don't worry, Tessa will be coming in very soon...As in maybe in the fifth or sixth chapter.**

**TheDarkWhiteAngel: Don't worry. Le Tessa be coming soon. It's not going to be named a certain ship because it will have a little bit of Jessa, Wessa, and other random things. So, hang with me here and watch the story unfold because, hopefully, more of your questions will be answered in the story. :) :) :)**

**SilverJem5: Jemmy. Such a funny name ;) I wanted to make Jessie innocent but girly, and so I felt that cutesy nicknames would do the trick...BUT APPARENTLY, Charlotte called Jem "Jemmy" in one part of CP2...God damn it. I thought I was being original. Thanks for reviewing and *triumphant music* I UPDATED. Yay.**

**JillessaHeronstairs: 'Sup. I managed to write a chapter through my little...problem. I like to think this means I have dedication, but I think it just means I'm bored because I really should be doing homework right now...But...VIOLINIST GUY COMING BACK TO YOUR SCHOOL...In...A few...months. If only time could go faster. Durh. I would write more in response to this wonderful review, but I think my fingers are going to fall off because I'm so tired. Ciao.**

**TickTockClockWork: I'm so glad you like this story so far. :) I'm trying to leave room for character development and whatever, but still have volume and depth (which lots of my characters unfortunately lack). So I'm trying to actually plan out what I want to happen and I hope that will make this story a little more *insert the word I'm trying to remember because I forgot it* than my other ones. Until next time. ;)**

**~~ooo~~**

Closing the door behind him as he left Will's room, Jem drew a gloved hand across his forehead, utterly exhausted. Still, his list of things to do stood dauntingly before him and he would be grateful if he could finish before midnight. However, despite the numerous tasks that were piling up in his thoughts, he checked behind to make sure Will hadn't gotten up again to roam around the corridors and then set down the hall to a room he was hardly allowed to go to. And, in truth, he hadn't been given permission to go there that night but he broke the rules that Will set for him, and quite often...And yet, he never yet had been caught though he wasn't too afraid of being discovered anyway.

Nearing the door, which Jem noted whose paint was peeling and looking bedraggled compared to the rest of the estate, he set his hand on the handle, pushing it open slightly. It was dark inside, and smelled of damp wood, and he could hardly make out the two figures on the bed in the hazy light.

One of the figures, who was propped up under the covers, was cradling the head of the other girl. Cecily, Jem recognized, was the smaller shape on the bed, laying her head against Ella's lap. Carding her fingers through her little sister's hair, Ella hummed a lullaby under her breath, whispering the words in the otherwise quiet room.

"_Hush-a-by baby, On the tree top, When the wind blows, The cradle will rock. When the bough breaks, The cradle will fall, And down will fall baby, Cradle and all." _Ella sang quietly, smoothing out Cecily's hair with her bare fingertips. Cecily stirred just slightly, her hands tightening in the covers. Taking a wheezing breath, Ella looked up from Cecily to Jem, her eyes small glints in the dark. "James? Is that you?" She called, her voice ragged. "No need to stand there in the dark on ceremony. Although, you ought to not stand there like that in the dark. It gives you the image of a mischievous servant, though I can't ever see you doing such a thing."

Jem straightened up, giving a small nod of his head. "Of course, your Highn-"

"James. I've told you many times to call me by my Christian name." She said quietly, closing her eyes halfway. "I am no royalty even if the Herondale blood does run through my veins. Will... He is..." She raised her hand to her mouth, coughing slightly. "Will...Why did he send you here to my room?"

Silent for a moment, Jem bit his lip. "In truth, he didn't send me here at all. I came on my own accord." Stepping inside further, he took the kettle from her night table and poured the tea into an empty cup. "You didn't drink all of your tisane." He said, handing her the steaming cup. "You know you will feel ill if you don't. I'm concerned for your health, as you should be as well. Are you feeling alright?

Ella frowned. "I am feeling quite fine. If Will didn't send you, why are you here?"

"Will is concerned." Jem answered cautiously. "I wanted to check up on you to make sure nothing was the matter."

"He is too young." Ella said sadly, looking down at her tisane. "Too young to have such a responsibility. I cannot blame him for being so stubborn, so guarded, so withdrawn. Though, his wrongs do set a scandal on our name. So much to learn, so much to fix. I'm glad he has you to guide him."

"To be honest, miss, he does most of the leading. How can I," he said, self deprecatingly, "a mere servant of his, even fathom helping him guide his hand? He is far, far more worthy of any leadership than I would ever have."

"Don't humble yourself, James. I know you two were close in childhood."

"He is still a child."

"As you are as well."

Jem gave her a measured look, clasping his hands together. "But yet, in this moment, I cannot afford to be one, can I? I've a household to manage, a young Master to look after, you to tend to and a distressingly loud girl to entertain."

"Oh, good heavens. Is that Lovelace girl here?" Ella sighed, taking a sip of her tisane and setting it onto the night table before proceeding to comb the tangles of Cecily's hair out with her fingers. "She always makes the most dreadful row."

"Yes, I do agree. She's leaving right after tea. I already have a carriage set to pick her up after she makes her tour through the towns in the morning." Jem said, straightening up. "Speaking of the morning, it's time you get some rest. I do hope you don't mind if I take young Cecily. We wouldn't want her getting sick, now, would we?" He said, watching as Cecily awoke at her name ad rubbed at her eyes.

"I have to go now?" Cecily complained, looking close to falling asleep.

"I'm afraid so." Ella answered, helping her little sister from the bed. "It's past your bedtime."

Standing up a little unsteadily, Cecily yawned and clutched her rumpled dress in her hands, wrapping her arms around her. Even in her late twelfth year, the top of her head hardly reached Jem's shoulder, unusually short for someone of the Herondale lineage, who were known to be tall and powerful. With a gloved hand on her shoulder, he guided her from the room, offering Ella his regards before taking Cecily back to her room.

"Why can't I stay in Ella's room for the night?" Cecily asked, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout. "I used to when I was younger."

"That was before your sister got sick. And it was quite a long time ago, as well." Jem reminded her gently, ushering her down the hall. Seeing another figure walking the opposite way down the hall, Jem stopped the wandering servant. "Miranda. Could you take young Cecily to her quarters? I'm afraid I have other tasks to attend to."

Miranda, who looked expressionless as always as if they were not even there at all, gave a curt nod. "Of course." She said blandly before looking over at Cecily. "You need to come with me so I can get you situated for bed."

Without protesting-after heaving quite a large sigh-Cecily followed Miranda to her room, the bottom of her too-long nightgown trailing behind her. Snapping back into focus, Jem pulled a pocket watch from the inside of his coat, dismayed at the time. _Half past ten, _he thought drearily, _Good lord...And I thought I was keeping on track of time as well._

_Give the servants their orders for the proceeding day._

_Organize the grand library to William's request._

_Check on the young master._

_Prepare the rooms._

_Feed the cat._

Church, who had been scampering down the hall, meowed, demanding sustenance.

Stooping down, Jem picked up the gray mass of fur. "Always and ever so the mind reader, aren't you? I can go see if there are any scraps in the kitchen for you, but you know how Bridget doesn't like you eating the leftovers." He said, talking to Church, who meowed in agreement and purred. "But remember, one wrong move and you'll have us both in trouble and the young lord wouldn't take a second thought to throwing you out onto the streets again. You ought to behave after I feed you, alright?"

Church chirped happily, it's partially flattened face giving it a perpetually smug look. Setting Church down, Jem scolded himself again for getting distracted. After all, feeding the cat was something he personally added onto his list. Thankfully, though, Bridget had finished hacking away at the 'sugar stick'-thinking of her wording made Jem shudder-and had gone off to do whatever she did at night. _She's bound to come back_, Jem reminded himself, plucking dried bread and meat from a basket and setting it in front of Church, who eagerly tucked in. _She spends almost her entire bloody life in the kitchen._

Leaving a note of morning instructions on the counter that included both Miranda's, Bridget's and Sora's*, he dusted off his gloves and tucked them into his coat pocket. Processing his routines quickly, he ran through the rest with ease.

_Organize the grand library to William's request._

_11:52_

_Check on the young master._

_12:47_

_Prepare the rooms._

_1:29_

Collapsing onto his bed after he had finished his tasks, Jem slipped off his coat tiredly, discarding it on the floor beside him. He was exhausted, seeing as it was now almost two in the morning. Unbuttoning the buttons on his waistcoat, he draped it across the back of a chair, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, his black hair curling in the slight humidity of the rooms.

However, as he moved to open the door and check the halls one last time, Sora came barreling down it, swinging his door open. Normally, she was one for propriety, but, by her wide-eyed expression, Jem knew it was urgent.

"What is it?" Jem asked, frozen at his doorway.

"It's the Lightwoods." Sora said frantically. "And you have to come quickly. It's urgent. Something's terribly wrong."

**Author's note:**

**At the *, I just wanted to remind you guys that Sora is NOT an OC. She's actually in TID. Full name: Sora Kaidou (She's of the Tokyo Institute). I just wanted to clear that up. :)**


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